


I can still taste the ocean

by petalrock



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Ocean, Until this, apparently i can only write fic after being in the ocean, boogie board au baby, extreme romanticization of being annihilated by waves, extremely liberal use of the word fuck, half moon bay, hey bella i actually wrote slash fic can you believe it, hmm yes tags, i am literally in this, i deadass forgot and then went back and edited the tags, i forgot how much i love writing, if you look up self-indulgence in the dictionary this will be the first definition, my favorite place of course, oh and me, tell me where you're hiding your voodoo doughnut, yes ocean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28976160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petalrock/pseuds/petalrock
Summary: Calum’s hair smells really nice. Calum smells really nice. Calum is really nice.“Mike,” says Calum. “Get your ass up. We’re going to the beach.”Never mind. Michael takes it all back. Calum is not nice. Michael hates the beach. He screws his eyes shut and gives a long suffering sigh.“Okay,” he says.
Relationships: Michael Clifford/Calum Hood
Comments: 10
Kudos: 22





	I can still taste the ocean

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my 5sos debut and possibly finale I promise nothing. This is quite obviously by me for me because I am a selfish little gremlin. But I hope other people can find something in here to enjoy as well, so let me know if you do. This is dedicated to Da Club because I fucking love you all you mean so fucking much to me I can hardly express it.

Michael is about to take a bite of what looks like the most incredible chocolate doughnut ever made when someone starts shaking his shoulder. The doughnut explodes in a cloud of dust. 

_Whoever is waking me up is going to suffer my eternal wrath,_ he thinks. _Unless it’s—_

Big brown eyes fill Michael’s vision as he slowly comes to. 

“Mgnakillyou,” he informs Calum, who still hasn’t stopped fucking shaking him. In retaliation, Michael grabs Calum’s arm and yanks hard, successfully turning himself into a sandwich between Calum and generic hotel bed number three thousand and fifty four. He hums, extremely pleased with himself. 

“Weighted blanket,” he mumbles into Calum’s hair. Calum’s hair smells really nice. Calum smells really nice. Calum is really nice. 

“Mike,” says Calum. “Get your ass up. We’re going to the beach.”

Never mind. Michael takes it all back. Calum is not nice. Michael hates the beach. He screws his eyes shut and gives a long suffering sigh. 

“Okay,” he says.

Calum’s head shoots up so fast that Michael startles. He leans over Michael’s face with wide, disbelieving eyes like Michael has just announced he’s into, like, doughnut porn. 

_The magic is in the hole,_ Michael thinks. _God, Voodoo Doughnut was so fucking good. I miss Portland. There are no beaches in Portland._

“Really?!” Calum says, and oh yeah, conversation. Calum is still hovering as if he’s about to, like, kiss Michael or something. But that’d be really fucking stupid. Yeah, stupid. 

“I mean, you already made us come to Nowheresville, California on one of our two days off,” Michael says in a tone that is supposed to be mean but is not. “I might as well do whatever the fuck it is you made us come here for.” 

He’s definitely said the right thing, because Calum smiles so bright Michael is temporarily blinded. He is definitely breathless right now because he has an entire boy squashing the air out of him. Not for any other reason. 

"Come on, then," Calum says cheerfully. "The surf shop opens at ten." 

"Thanks for the fun fact. Why should I care?"

"Because, dickhead, we're going."

"Cal, babe, we're not those kinds of Australians. I thought you'd have figured that out by now."

Calum huffs and Michael feels it tickle his cheeks. That should probably not make his stomach get the gold in Olympic gymnastics. Good thing it most definitely doesn't. 

"We're not going surfing. We’re gonna— actually, it's a surprise. It'll be fun! Please just trust me?"

He dials up his puppy eyes to a level that could single handedly achieve world peace. If his bottom lip sticks out as he pouts, Michael does not notice. 

_Fuck._

"Alright," he says, drawing out the _i_ as if there was any chance he'd say no to Calum. Like he wouldn't sooner quit the band and dedicate his life to the stock market in a two square foot cubicle on the infinitieth floor of the shittiest skyscraper in the worst city on Earth. 

Calum hums smugly and buries his face in Michael’s neck. Michael does his best to keep his soul from leaving his body, with limited success. He wraps his arms around Calum's waist, closes his eyes, and lets himself enjoy the sweet smell of Calum's soft curls. 

\---

An hour and one mediocre hotel doughnut later, Michael is following Calum through the doors of a shop with a yellow sign christening it Half Moon Bay Board Shop. 

"Calum," Michael starts. "What _—_ "

"Boogie boarding! We're going boogie boarding!" 

Calum looks at Michael like he's just announced they are going to a Nickelback concert. Michael makes a face at him.

"You made that up. No one would ever call a real thing boogie boarding."

"You're such an ass," Calum says in the way normal people say nice things. "It's like surfing, but for losers like us who can't actually surf. I went a few times with Mali when I was younger."

"Am I gonna get wet?"

Calum cocks an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth turns up. Michael punches his arm. 

"We're getting in the ocean, stupid, so yes." 

He grabs Michael by the hand and drags him towards the counter. Michael feels his face explode with heat and tries to keep his hand from sweating by sheer force of will. The hand Calum is holding. Calum is holding his hand. This alone is almost worth being dragged out of bed and into the ocean. 

_Do you really think this a normal thing to think about your best friend?_ Asks That Little Part of Michael's mind whose contributions are generally unwelcome. Recently it’s been butting in a lot where Calum is concerned. 

_He's my favorite person,_ Michael tells it. _I'm allowed to like holding his hand, so shut the fuck up._

_The fact that you're having to justify your actions to your own brain proves it's not normal. If it was normal, you wouldn't be questioning it right now._

_I'm not questioning it, asshole. You are._

_I am you, dumbass._

Michael is pulled from his thoughts, not for the first time, by the sound of Calum's voice.

" _—_ two boards?" he's saying to the person behind the register. Said person is wearing a sweatshirt in a rather assaulting shade of hot pink. It strikes Michael as something he’d maybe wear if he weren’t so punk rock. 

"Do you guys also want, like, wetsuits?" They ask, running a hand over their buzzcut. "I know it's not cold out, but the boards kinda feel like sandpaper on bare skin. I wouldn't exactly recommend it."

Calum turns to Michael, as if he’s some sort of wetsuit guru. Michael shrugs. He watches the person behind the counter notice their linked hands and smile slightly. Calum, however, must not notice, because he chooses that exact moment to readjust his grip and lace their fingers together. Michael bites back the urge to scream. 

“Sure, might as well,” Calum says, as if everything is totally normal. “Sounds like the smart thing to do.”

Michael’s brain kicks back into gear. 

“Yes, because that’s what we’re known for,” he says. “Doing the smart thing.”

He expects a jab back, but instead Calum just laughs and shakes his head fondly. Michael feels like he’s been put in the taffy machine from the Wonka Factory. 

He notices the person behind the counter give Calum a quick once-over. They catch Michael’s eye over Calum’s shoulder, and their expression makes Michael feel like he’s missing something. He blinks back. 

“I’m gonna go get your gear,” they say, and disappear into the back. 

_Okay. That was a little weird. Maybe that’s just how Californians are. I don’t fucking know._

“Hey,” Calum says, suddenly looking at him way too earnestly for ten fifteen a.m. “Thanks for doing this with me. I know it’s kind of stupid, but I really wanna do it. So. Thank you.”

He gives Michael’s hand a little squeeze. Because he’s still holding Michael’s hand. They’re holding hands. And Calum is looking at him Like That. Potentially Michael actually should check back in with That Little Part of his mind. He does not. Instead, he smiles at Calum and squeezes back. 

“Of course, Cal. But if I get pulled out to sea and drown, you have to give me mouth-to-mouth.” He wiggles his eyebrows. 

“If you wanna kiss me, Mikey, all you have to do is ask.”

Michael audibly keyboard smashes. Calum bursts out laughing right as the board shop worker returns with their wetsuits. 

_That’s fucking unfair. Piece of shit._

\---

Standing on the beach watching the pounding surf, Michael feels significantly less confident than he’d felt in the shop. Maybe it was because Calum wasn’t holding his hand anymore. There was yet another thought to unpack at a later date. Or never. 

They pick a spot in the sand far away from the few clusters of people scattered along the beach. Calum dumps the two boards on the ground. One is a nice blue. Michael had picked out the most obnoxious fluorescent yellow one they carried. 

“Okay, suit up,” Calum says. 

Michael tosses him one of the wetsuits and skeptically appraises the other. 

"We are going to look like the shittiest Avengers ever," Michael says.

The wetsuit feels what Michael imagines seal skin would feel like. Kind of slippery on one side and spongy on the other. It also looks way too fucking small. He wrinkles his nose. 

“There’s no fucking way this is right,” he says. “This looks like it was made for a twelve year old.”

“It’s stretchy, you moron. Just try, come on,” Calum says, already with one leg in. 

Putting on a wetsuit turns out to be a whole ass workout. It keeps sealing against Michael’s skin before he’s adjusted it and it’s making it really fucking difficult to pull it up all the way. What feels like hours later, he adjusts his left ankle with a final huff and straightens up. 

“Fucking hell, that was torture,” he pants. He turns to Calum and forgets how to speak. 

It’s just. He looks so fucking good. He always looks better than average, but like. He’s only wearing his wetsuit from the waist down, and the sun is glinting off his skin and making his tattoos stand out. His hair is a little messy from taking off his shirt and hoodie. He looks like a stereotypical surfer boy and Michael wants to [redacted]. 

“Here, I’ll zip you up,” Calum says, and _Oh God he’s approaching me. Fuck._

Before he can blink, Calum’s bare chest is practically pressed along his back. Michael focuses on regulating his breathing so he doesn’t pass out from the force of the wetsuit compressing his organs and the feeling of Calum’s fingers on the back of his neck. Calum secures the velcro across Michael’s zipper and gives it a few pats. 

“My turn,” he says, slipping his hands into the arms of his wetsuit and pulling them on with obnoxiously little effort. He turns so that Michael can zip him up, which he does without letting his fingers linger on the very smooth skin of Calum’s back or anything like that. 

“Hey,” Michael asks as something suddenly occurs to him. “Did Luke and Ash not wanna come, or?”  
“Oh, I didn’t invite them,” Calum says casually as he straps his board to his wrist. He looks up and gives Michael the smile that makes fangirls black out. Michael is not a fangirl. He does not feel lightheaded. 

_God, I’m so fucking fucked._

“Let’s go catch some waves, brah,” he says in his best surfer dude voice. 

Calum laughs loudly, and his eyes crinkle at the corners. Michael wants to kill himself. 

Still laughing, Calum yanks his board off the ground by the wrist strap, lifts it over his head, and goes sprinting towards the ocean. He looks completely moronic. Michael slings his own board over his shoulder and follows slowly after him. 

At the edge of the surf, Michael stops and watches Calum attempt to wade out past the breaking waves. After the first few waves smack him square in the face, he gets the idea to hold his board up like a shield to block them. 

“Come on, Mike!” Calum calls over his shoulder. 

Michael takes a deep breath and drags his board along behind him. He tentatively sticks one foot into the water and immediately jumps back out. 

“IT’S SO FUCKING COLD,” he shrieks. 

“It’s not that bad once you get all the way in,” Calum shouts back. Michael bites back a _that's what she said._ Calum’s finally made it out far enough that he can turn and face the beach without fear of being obliterated by a breaking wave. “Just wait for, like, a lull in the waves and get out before they start breaking again.”

“Stop pretending like you know what you’re talking about, asshole,” Michael shouts. But he waits until the water seems to have calmed down a bit before wading in. He’s almost made it to where Calum’s standing, so he turns back to pick his board up from behind him. 

“Michael!” Calum yells, but it’s too late. 

Michael turns back just as a wave comes crashing over him. The force of it pulls his board out of his hands and sends him stumbling backwards. Barely landing on his feet, he splutters and spits out a mouthful of seawater. He's just regained his balance when another wave knocks his board into his shins like a fucking razor scooter and sends him ass-first into the sand. 

_That was a fucking hate crime,_ he thinks bitterly, coughing. _Apparently the ocean is a fat fucking homophobe._

He's too busy feeling sorry for himself to notice Calum until he's dropped down in front of him, which is an impressive feat given the way the stupid fucking wetsuits ride up. 

"Hey, hey, you're okay, right?" he says, hands flitting over Michael’s shoulders and pushing his fringe off his forehead. Michael suddenly feels better. 

"M'fine," he says. "Can we get dry and cuddle now?" He looks at Calum and does his best to make his eyes as big as possible. He’s not quite sure how Calum pulls off the puppy dog face so effortlessly but he’s damn determined to try. 

It must work at least a little, because Calum sits down in the sand beside him. 

“Mikey, if you really want to stop, we can,” he says, turning and looking at Michael so genuinely that Michael can taste his own heartbeat. 

_Calum Hood is the best person on the planet. I love him._

“Aw, you really know how to make a girl feel safe,” Michael says, batting his eyelashes. 

“Shut the fuck up, dickhead, I’m trying to be nice.”

“Right, right sorry. Go on.”

“Whatever. I was done anyways. I have nothing nice to say to you.”

“No, come on Cally,” Michael whines, leaning his head on Calum’s shoulder and blinking up at him. Calum huffs, but Michael can tell he’s trying not to smile. 

“We can go back to the hotel right now if you want,” Calums says. “Or you can try just one more time. For me?”

If today is some sort of elaborate experiment to see how much Michael would willingly do for Calum, the results are going to be pretty embarrassing for Michael. It’s just. His fucking eyes and that little crease between his eyebrows and his eyelashes when he blinks and—

“Okay,” he says, and Calum beams, as if he really thought this was going to be the day Michael said no to him. “One more time. If I die, it’s gonna be entirely your fault and you’re gonna be guilty forever.”

“You’re not gonna drown,” Calum says, laughing. “And if you do, I’ll give you mouth-to-mouth, remember?” 

And then he fucking winks. 

Michael sits in stunned silence as Calum gets to his feet. It’s not like Calum’s never winked at him before. But, like, _fuck. That was hot._

“Coming?” Calum asks from above. He’s smirking at Michael a little too knowingly. 

_Asshole_. 

Michael wants to kiss him. To cleanse himself of that thought, he gets up and promptly walks into the ocean. 

This time, they miraculously make it past the surf without being decimated. Once they get to waist-deep water, Michael turns to Calum.

“Okay, now what?”

“I think we just wait for a wave and then, like, jump?”

“Jump?!”

“Yeah, isn’t that what the person at the board shop said to do? You jump with your board and the wave carries you to shore.”

“I don’t fucking remember what they said. How about you go first so I can see how not to do it.”

“Dickhead,” Calum says, splashing water at Michael’s face. “We’re doing it together.” 

Michael turns away to hide the stupid fucking smile fighting its way onto his face. 

“Look, let’s try to catch this wave right now,” Calum says, holding his board up in front of him. Michael mimics him and looks over his shoulder at the oncoming wave. The wave that seems to be getting bigger and bigger as it approaches. 

“Uh, Calum—” 

“JUMP!” Calum shouts above the roar of the wave crashing over them. 

Michael jumps onto his board, and for a split second, nothing happens as the wave lifts him. And then he’s shooting towards shore, the wind rushing past his ears and heart in his throat. His grip on his board is probably strong enough to crack his favorite guitar in half. Michael looks over and sees Calum right beside him with an enormous smile on his face. 

They hit the shore and go skidding onto the sand. The wave recedes, and Michael lets out a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding. He looks over at Calum to find him already looking back. Good thing the chill of the sea has already turned Michael’s cheeks pink. Calum rolls off his board onto his back, chest heaving.

“That,” he says, “was fucking—”

“Insane,” Michael finishes for him. “That was sick as fuck.”

“I thought we were gonna die,” Calum says. “Like I knew we weren’t gonna, but—”

“But it felt like maybe we could’ve,” Michael agrees. “Holy fuck. Let’s do that again.” 

They end up staying out for hours. Michael discovers that if you jump and catch the wave right before it breaks, you can coast down the flat face of it and pick up extra speed. Once Calum figures out how to hold onto his board and float on his back, they take breaks every few runs to bob in the waves like sea otters. 

Michael swears the waves get bigger as afternoon rolls around. At one point, they both catch a wave that’s so powerful it pushes their boards out from under them as it breaks and then sucks them backwards into the sea. It feels like being put through a washing machine. 

It feels like years pass before they finally take one last wave all the way back to shore. Michael undoes the velcro on the neck of his wetsuit as soon as he stands up and takes a deep gulp of air.

"Why does this wetsuit wanna choke me so badly?"

"Kinky," says Calum as he undoes the zipper of his own wetsuit. He pulls it down to his waist, and Michael thinks that maybe God does exist, because there's no way Calum just naturally looks that good, dripping wet with his hair a mess of salty curls. 

They make it back to their stuff laying haphazardly in a pile up the beach. They change into dry clothes. Michael steals Calum’s sweatshirt when he's not looking. Calum steals Michael's sweatshirt as revenge. It’s Michael’s favorite oversized one and it makes Calum look insanely cuddly. 

_Win-win_ , Michael thinks. 

They set out a blanket. Calum sits down cross legged and Michael collapses against Calum’s side, wrapping his arms around Calum’s waist and nuzzling into his shoulder. Calum hums, resting his head on top of Michael’s. 

Sitting on the beach with Calum, the sun drying the sea off their skin, Michael’s mind is blissfully quiet. 

_This. This is ideal. I never want to do anything else._

“I wish we could do this every day,” Calum says.

Michael smiles into Calum’s shoulder. 

“What, cuddle?” he asks, voice a little muffled. “I think we do cuddle every day.”

“No, just. Do things together.”

“We literally share a career, Cal.”

“No, I mean.” Calum huffs. “I mean random shit like boogie boarding. I wish we could just do whatever we wanted whenever we wanted. But, like, together.” 

Michael feels very much as if someone has poured hot fudge on top of his head and let it soak through his entire body. He feels warm and sticky and gooey and a little disgusted with himself, but also too happy to care. 

“I love you,” he says, tightening his grip on Calum’s waist. 

“Yeah?” Calum says, and Michael feels him shift a little. He picks his head off Calum’s shoulder and finds they’re nearly nose to nose. Michael has just spent the past four hours getting tossed around in the ocean, but he’s never felt so much like he’s drowning than right now looking into Calum’s eyes. Michael is reminded vividly of this morning, when he was thinking about—

Calum’s eyes flutter closed. 

_Have his eyelashes always been that long?_

Calum leans forward the last inch, and then they’re kissing. 

For a second, Michael just freezes. And then he kisses back like he’s kissed Calum countless times before. Like they’ve already lived and died a thousand times together and this is just another timeline where they’ve finally found each other again the way they were always meant to. Or some crazy shit like that. The kiss feels like an inevitable ending and a new beginning wrapped in one. 

Calum tastes, predictably, like the ocean. One of his hands cards into the back of Michael’s hair. The other slides up Michael’s knee. Michael could use some air right about now, but he’d absolutely rather just perish than stop kissing Calum. 

Luckily for his lungs, Calum pulls away a second later. 

For a minute, they just hold each other, foreheads pressed together. Michael tries to time his breathing with the thundering waves so he doesn’t hyperventilate. 

Finally, Calum speaks. 

“So, I love you too.”

Michael can’t stop his smile. It occurs to him that he no longer has to hide it. Potentially there are a few things he no longer has to hide. His feelings feel like way too much to handle, so he tackles Calum back onto the blanket. 

Calum laughs, and his arms fly up around Michael’s back as Michael buries his face in Calum’s neck. He leaves a couple of kisses there, because he has wanted to for an indefinite amount of time, and now he can. Calum inhales sharply. Grinning, Michael sits up a little so he can look at Calum’s face. 

Calum’s curls are slightly salt encrusted. His eyes are a little red, either fried from the sun or salt water or both. This close, Michael can see a few faint freckles across his nose. Calum is smiling enough that his eyes are crinkling at the corners. Michael can’t fucking stand him. He looks so fucking pretty. 

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Michael tells him, wiping a couple of salt crystals off Calum’s left eyebrow. Michael can feel Calum’s cheeks heat up. 

_Incredible._

“Shut up,” Calum says, looking extremely flustered. 

Michael has never felt such intense feelings about anyone or anything than he feels for Calum Hood. He’s not sure if he could say that even if he was ready to, so he leans down and kisses Calum again. 

Calum hums into it, and Michael tilts his head a little to get the angle just right. When they part, Calum smooths Michael’s cheeks with his thumbs. Michael leans into the touch. 

“Glad you came?” Calum asks. 

“I’ve literally never regretted going anywhere with you,” Michael says. Apparently Calum has kissed away Michael’s brain-to-mouth filter. 

“That’s disgusting, and also a lie,” Calum says, looking way too happy. 

“Okay, so that one time we tried to sneak into that sketchy fucking bar in Austin was not exactly a highlight,” Michael concedes. “But other than that. Our adventure record is like, one for five billion, so I’d say we’re doing alright.”

Calum grins.

“That feels like a gross overestimate, but I like your optimism, so I’m not going to argue.”

“Good, because then I’d have to break up with you.”

_Wait, fuck. I need to get that filter reinstalled as soon as possible._

“Oh, are we dating?” Calum raises an eyebrow. Michale can feel his heart rate start to increase uncomfortably. 

“Oh, um, well—”

“Hey, hey,” says Calum, immediately sensing his panic. “I’m just teasing. I’d really, really like to date you. If you’ll have me?”

Michael’s heart rate keeps speeding up for an entirely opposite reason. 

“Duh, obviously, yes,” he says, because he is extremely well spoken. 

Calum beams and pecks Michael on the nose before pulling him down into a suffocating hug that Michael would willingly let be his cause of death. 

They must fall asleep, because Michael finds himself blinking awake as the sun starts thinking about setting. They pack up their things. Calum puts both still-wet wetsuits on top of the stacked boards and carries the whole thing on top of his head. Michael ducks underneath to kiss him. As they start the walk back, Michael stops to look back at the ocean one last time. The waves keep coming back to meet the shore no matter how many times they leave. 

_That’s a quote from somewhere,_ he thinks.

He turns and follows Calum back home.


End file.
